


Things Shaped in Passing

by elfin (crazylittleelf)



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazylittleelf/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misery loves company.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Shaped in Passing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monanotlisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/monanotlisa/gifts).



Lincoln is staring down at his tea, face scrunched and frowning in a very un-Lincoln-like way. Liv's trying, she really is, but she can't help comparing them, cataloging the little differences that they apparently couldn't see. She doesn't think they're very much alike, and she's not sure if that makes things easier or harder.

His forehead is creased in confusion when he looks up at her. "You let Walter stay at your apartment?"

She can't help but laugh, because of all the impossible things that have happened in the last twenty-four hours, he'd get stuck on that one.

"He sort of grows on you."

Lincoln doesn't look convinced.

They're sitting at a cafe a few blocks from HQ while Internal Investigations is tearing apart the office. Liv couldn't stand watching them in Broyles' office anymore, so she caught Lincoln's wrist in her hand and pulled him along after her. It's mid afternoon, and to say that she didn't get much sleep the night before is an understatement. She'd ordered two cups of Silver Needle and slapped Lincoln's hands away when he tried to add sugar to his.

The air's just a little cold and they're the only ones outside. Liv runs her finger around the rim of her teacup. "Walter was the hardest part about pretending to be her. When I was assigned over there, I mean. I still thought that you were our enemies. I didn't understand. Walter… he hurts so much because of what's happened. I didn't like having to lie to him."

Lincoln nods.

"Anyway, I know he doesn't like hotel rooms, so I thought he'd be more comfortable at my place."

He's smiling a little. "That's really nice of you."

She sips her tea and looks at him over the rim of her cup. "There goes my reputation as a complete bitch, huh?"

The smile widens and lights the smoky blue of his eyes. "I won't tell anyone."

She drives Lincoln to his hotel and watches him until the doors of the lobby close behind him. She ignores the little sliver of fear over letting him out of her sight.

*****

The fallout of Broyles' betrayal takes a while to work through. Liv's frustrated by the delay and so is Lincoln. They spend more time being interviewed and re-interviewed than anything else. The Internal Investigation agents are sympathetic, but that doesn't stop them from keeping her and Lincoln from going after Jones.

She's leaning against a wall in a nondescript hallway in an administrative section of the building. She's been leaning there for a while, after she got bored pacing. Lincoln's sitting on an uncomfortable bench across from her, looking more sad than bored. He's very still -- none of her Lincoln's nervous energy. Her Lincoln would have paced with her.

"You should just go back until this is all over. At least you could be _doing_ something there."

The expression that flickers across Lincoln's face is brief and unfamiliar, but something about it makes her heart hurt. He swallows hard and says, "I'd really rather stay here." He looks up at her sharply, worried now. "Unless you want me to leave. If that's what you want, I'll go."

"No. Lincoln, I just thought you'd rather be home."

He shrugs. "One hotel room is much the same as another. At least here I don't…"

Muscles along his jaw twitch as he bites the words off.

"I don't feel like I'm in anyone's way here." He stares at his hands. "I feel like I should feel out of place here. I mean, I _am_ out of place here. I'm not trying to take his place." He clenches his hands, one then the other. She wants to cross the hallway and hold his hands, rub her thumbs over the backs of them until he relaxes.

She stays where she is and says, "I know."

*****

Fringe Science Division is assigned a temporary director, Colonel Dahlander, and Liv's trying not to irrationally hate him, but she irrationally hates him. She and Lincoln are working mundane cases -- background checks and data reviews -- while Jones slips further and further away. 

Lincoln yawns over the reports that he's looking at and takes a drink of the black tea she got for him. He makes a little face at it and asks, "Are you sure this has caffeine in it?"

"Rough night?"

His mouth twitches into the shape of a smile, but it's not a smile -- his eyes are sad, lost. "I don't really sleep much. Not anymore. I never had trouble sleeping before Robert was killed." Liv wonders if she looks like that when she talks about her Lincoln.

"I haven't slept since Lincoln died." She frowns. "Does that bother you? Your name, I mean, when I talk about him." She doesn't talk about him very often. It hurts too much, and it hurts to think that this Lincoln hurts like that, too.

"No." They're both using the same desk, one of them on each side of it, bent over their reports. Lincoln looks out of place in his suit, but it doesn't seem to bother him. The startled looks other agents occasionally shoot their way don't seem to bother him either. "I know who you mean. It doesn't bother me."

She leans forward a little. "I could make up a nickname for you."

He's smiling a little now, looking up at her from under his eyelashes. "I'd rather you didn't."

She huffs out a breath, but she's smiling, too. "Fine. Have it your way."

*****

" _Midland_?" Liv's aware that her voice is a little screechy. She's usually better about that, but seriously, Midland? "We should be working on tracking Jones, not going to Midland to look for missing cows."

Belatedly she thinks it was probably a test by Dahlander to see how she'd react. She glares out of the window of the plane and figures she failed that one pretty miserably. Lincoln was always better at that sort of thing than she is. Despite his goofiness, he had navigated office politics with ease.

Lincoln looks up from the datapad and asks, "Giant bees?"

She nods absently. "Yeah, but it's probably still too cold for them to be very active. They don't usually get this far north until summer."

He frowns at her. "Why are there giant bees?"

She doesn't know. Lincoln would have known, but she doesn't. There just are. She goes back to glaring out the window.

They pick up the rental car and throw their bags in back. The GPS guides them out of the city, though tree-covered rolling hills that eventually flatten out to wide-open spaces. The sky is curtained by heavy clouds. By the time they reach the motel along the interstate, the lights of oncoming traffic are starting to blur and Liv's biting the inside of her cheek to keep from dozing off.

Lincoln hesitates outside the door to his room, bag in one hand, key in the other.

"Are you hungry?"

Liv shakes her head. "Not really."

She recognizes that he's stalling, but she's tired enough to want to lean against the door. The thought of eating makes her a little nauseous. The motel is a little strip of rooms right along the highway. There's an old swimming pool in the center of the parking lot that's been filled in with dirt and grass, a perfectly rectangular lawn. Along the hazy horizon, lightning illuminates the low clouds.

"Good night, Lincoln."

She takes her shoes off but doesn't get undressed. Liv lies on the bed in her room, on top of the blankets, and stares at the ceiling, looking for patterns in the water stains. She can hear the traffic from the highway, the sound of water running in Lincoln's room, thunder rumbling distantly. She thinks she sleeps for a little while, then wakes suddenly at the brilliant flash of lightning. She holds her breath until the thunder sounds, rattling the windows of her room. The rain is torrential.

She rolls off the bed and stands by the window. The awning around the strip of motel rooms is keeping the rain mostly away from the window. She startles back a little when she sees someone outside, illuminated by the strobing light thrown by the storm.

She opens the door to her room and says, "Lincoln?"

He's smiling when he turns to her. "Hey."

"What are you doing?"

"I like storms. This is nice, how it's not windy at all." 

She steps outside, propping the door open. Lincoln's barefoot, standing just under the awning. The rain hitting the ground is splattering his feet, soaking the cuffs of the pajama pants he's wearing. His face is tilted up, looking into the rain, smiling.

Her Lincoln was caught in a microburst vortex event when he was fourteen. It flattened buildings and threw cars off the road like they were toys. He'd come out of it with a broken arm and a deep fear of storms.

She watches Lincoln watch the storm and blinks away the sudden tears.

*****

They're both cranky in the morning, overly tired. They argue over where to eat breakfast, where to park at the field office, how to get to the event site. The local agent in charge watches them with bemusement.

It takes them two hours to drive to event site, which is in the middle of a field that's south of a town that still has signs up claiming to be halfway between New York and San Francisco. Liv would have thought that they'd have taken the signs down after the 2003 earthquake. The field is covered in lush green grass and would look perfectly bucolic if not for the giant chunk missing from the center of it.

The crater looks like a giant ice cream scoop took a section of the field away. The bottom of it is filled with muddy water from the recent rain. All the readings are normal now, around the edges of the thing. On the far side of the crater is half a cow. It makes her think of Walter.

"Everything seems fine now," she says. "I don't think there should be any further instability."

"They said you'd check inside it. To make sure it's not gonna get any bigger or nothin'."

Liv stares dismally into the crater, then looks at the farmer. He's a pale, pudgy young man who does not at all look like what she thinks a farmer should look like. She wants to hit him. She looks around for Lincoln, but he's at back at the road where they parked, talking to the farmer's kids who are splashing in puddles on the gravel road.

She slides down the slope of the crater, managing to keep her ass mostly out of the mud. The water in the bottom sloshes over the tops of her boots and soaks into her socks and pants. The mud sucks at her feet with each step she takes towards the center.

"Oh!" She turns towards the sound and Lincoln's peering down at her. His nose wrinkles and he looks absolutely appalled. It's sort of adorable. "You want me to come down there?"

She waves him off and turns in a circle, watching the display on the molecular stability meter. Like the reading from the edge, there's nothing out of the ordinary. Just a muddy hole with a miserable Fringe agent in it. She looks up at the sky just as it opens up and starts pouring rain again. She slogs back over to where the crater slopes up and stares at Lincoln, blinking at him through the rain. He seems impossibly far away. Little rivers of rain tumble over the edge of the crater in tiny waterfalls.

"I'm never getting out of here, am I?"

Lincoln holds up a rope and smiles.

*****

She lets him drive.

"You, um… we're supposed to check in at the field office…"

"Fuck that," she grates out, shivering despite the heat in the car being on full blast. Confined to the car, she can now tell that the mud has a distinct aroma of cow shit to it. "I need a shower and clean clothing and a shower, did I mention that?"

"Motel it is."

She's in the shower before she really thinks about the way Lincoln's hair was plastered to his head in the rain, the way his wet shirt stuck to his chest. She resolutely does not think about that. She's never thought about Lincoln like that and just because this isn't him isn't any reason for her to start doing so. This Lincoln is her partner, just like before, and she does not think about her partner and the way the muscles in his arms looked under the wet cloth of his shirt while he was hauling her out of a muddy pit in a Midland cow pasture.

Only she can't stop thinking about it. About him. About how for all their similarities they're not the same. She suddenly -- fiercely, horribly, achingly -- misses her Lincoln because this is the sort of thing she'd ask his advice on; what to do about this hot guy that she's not sure is even remotely interested in her. He'd laugh and ask how some hot guy could possibly _not_ be interested in her, and she'd punch his arm and say that _he_ wasn't hot or interested.

She misses her partner. She misses her friend.

Liv stands in the shower and cries until the water's gone cold and she's shivering again. She pulls the sweatshirt she took from Lincoln's locker on over her pajamas, then wraps herself in one of the blankets. Its mid afternoon, but seems later as dark as it is. She wants to curl up on the bed and try to sleep.

She hears a knock on the door to Lincoln's room, then muffled talking, then a knock on her own door. Lincoln's holding a box of pizza when she opens it. He watches her closely as he enters, but doesn't say anything about her red eyes.

They sit at the little table and eat out of the box, devour the entire pizza. They go over the readings for the site and submit their report. They try to get their flight home moved up, but with the five hour drive back to the airport, they can't get anything earlier than their already scheduled flight the next day.

Liv stretches out on one bed and Lincoln the other, and they watch the local news assuring everyone that no further events are expected. Liv wonders how they can say that with a straight face since the _first_ event wasn't expected but that hadn't stopped it. She wakes up when Lincoln turns the TV off.

"Sorry."

She blinks in the darkness of the room and asks, "What time is it."

"Little after midnight. I didn't mean to fall asleep in your room."

"'S'ok," Liv mutters.

She hears him walking to the door, cursing under his breath when he kicks a chair. She must fall asleep again after that because she doesn't hear him leave, but he's gone when the alarm on her phone goes off in the morning.

*****

The flight home is unremarkable until Liv dozes off and wakes up with her head resting against Lincoln's shoulder. She's curled towards him on the seat, and he's lifted the armrest so that it's not in her way. His head's tilted back and he's snoring lightly. She curls closer and sleeps soundly for the rest of the flight.

When she wakes up her throat is scratchy, and she thinks it's just the dry, recycled air from the plane until she starts sneezing. They turn in their reports at HQ and by the time they're done, they're both sneezing, whining, snot machines. Dahlander sends them home with a sympathetic and mildly disgusted shake of his head.

When Liv pulls up outside of Lincoln's hotel they both just sit in the car, staring blankly out the windshield. Lincoln sniffles.

"You don't have mutant killer colds here, do you?"

Liv says, "Well, yeah, but this is just a regular cold. The bioscanners at the airport would have flagged us if it was something worse. Stay home tomorrow. It's not like they're letting us do anything anyway."

He nods and staggers off to his room.

*****

She wonders if she should get used to Lincoln showing up at her door with food.

This time it's containers of soup from the deli down the street, one for each of them. He's sniffling and miserable, just like her, and she doses him with cold medicine after they eat.

"I tried this before," he says.

"The cold stuff?" she asks, confused.

"No, I..." He stops and stares at the far wall. They're sitting on the couch, each wrapped up in a blanket. Liv's been flipping through the channels looking for something to watch. She feels sort of light headed.

"She'd been getting headaches. The other Olivia. It was because someone'd been drugging her and we didn't know it. I just thought she was sick or something. I brought her soup."

"Did it help?"

"No." The word is clipped and doesn't invite further questions.

They sit in silence after that, and Liv leaves the TV on a replay of last year's World Cup match. She turns the sound off and watches through half-closed eyes. She remembers the game -- she'd watched it live with Lincoln. After a while Lincoln lists towards her and she leans into his side. She turns the TV off and closes her eyes.

Lincoln's breathing is steady, if a little raspy. Before she drifts off, Liv thinks that the only time she can sleep easily now is when he's there.

She wakes, confused for a moment, hours later. Liv works her way to standing, trying to not wake Lincoln. He slips sideways on the couch and looks up at her in confusion. She takes his glasses off and tucks one of the throw pillows under his head.

"It's okay. Go back to sleep."

He blinks slowly a few times. Liv strokes his hair, rubs a gentle circle over his temple. His eyes close and his breathing evens out. His eyelashes fan over the dark circles under his eyes. Liv watches him until her own eyes are drifting closed again. She climbs into her cold bed and sleeps until the mid-morning light wakes her.

When she shuffles out of her bedroom Lincoln's sitting on the couch in a cocoon of blankets looking at the picture of her and her Lincoln. The contents of Lincoln's locker are still spread out on the table in her living room. Liv's willing to admit that she has no intention of returning them to his parents. She sits down next to him.

His expression is sort of bleary and unfocused when he looks at her. "You look really happy."

She nods and says, "Yeah," because she's not really sure what else to say. Then she whispers, "I miss him."

Lincoln shifts and wraps his arm around her shoulder, letting her burrow under the blankets that cover him. She leans into him, into his fever-warm body and looks at the photo he holds.

"It doesn't really get any easier. At least it hasn't yet. After… after Robert died, I thought it would get easier as time passed but it hasn't yet." His voice breaks a little and when he sniffles it has nothing to do with the cold. "I don't think it will."

Liv nods again. "When Rachel died, everyone said that eventually it would stop hurting, but it just hurts differently now. I don't know if people were lying to make me feel better or if they'd never really lost anyone."

He looks at her, confused.

"My sister," she clarifies.

"I know, I just didn't know… the other..."

Liv chokes back tears and scrubs at her eyes with the back of on hand. Lincoln puts the photo back on the table and twists so that he's got both arms around her. She presses her face into his chest, and she can hear the way his breath hitches around his tears.

*****

Lincoln's called back to his universe that afternoon.

Liv works on the cases she's given and gets over her cold. She keeps as busy as she can, working at the office until late at night. She does not admit to herself that it's because she's trying to distract herself from how much she misses Lincoln. She lies awake at night, watching the minutes, hours tick by on the clock by her bed. When she does sleep, she dreams about the crack of gunfire, sees the blood spreading across the fabric of Lincoln's white shirt. Then it's not the white knit of Lincoln's t-shirt but the crisp white cotton of Lincoln dress shirt. He dies again and again in her dreams, first one of them, then the other. She's shaking when she wakes.

Her mind feels fuzzy, and she thinks maybe it a good thing that they're not really letting her work in the field.

Five days later she meets him on the bridge. He's talking to the other Olivia and she's frowning. They both are. Liv gets the impression that they've been arguing. The other Olivia's eyes dart to Liv's, then away. She looks at Lincoln and nods, shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and walks away.

Lincoln seems surprised to see her. His smile is hesitant, a little shy. She likes it. She doesn't like the dark, smudgy bruises under his eyes, the way his usually neat suit is rumpled.

He falls into step beside her and they walk back toward her side of the bridge and says, "You're feeling better?"

"Yeah, you?" He nods and she asks, "Get things taken care of over there?"

His smile fades. He reaches out and puts his hand on her arm and she can feel the heat of him through the fabric of her shirt. They stand in the narrow hallway and she stares at his hand on her arm.

"I, um, did something, and I probably should have asked you first and if you aren't comfortable with it I won't do it. I'll tell them it was a mistake."

She frowns and shakes her head. "What did you do?"

Lincoln licks his lips, a quick dart of a pink tongue and Liv stares at his mouth. "I asked to be transferred here. Officially, I mean. Permanently."

She looks up at his eyes, startled. There's a little line on his forehead between his eyes and his lips are pursed. He looks worried. She blinks a few times.

"Okay," he says. His voice is shaky and he won't meet her eyes now. "It was a bad idea. I'm sorry. I should have asked first."

She puts her hand over his. "Lincoln." Her voice is thick, throat constricted with emotion. She squeezes his hand and smiles.

*****

Lincoln's request is approved.

Dahlander gives them both an appraising look and says, "We've been compiling data from the information Broyles has been giving us about what he knew about Jones and his operation. I'll have it transferred to your workstations. Keep me apprised of anything you find."

She and Lincoln look at each other, then Liv grins at Dahlander and says, "Thank you, sir."

It's a lot of data. She and Lincoln comb through it for hours, taking notes and comparing finds, both working from the same desk. Eventually Lincoln pushes away from the desk and says, "I should go back to the hotel and get another room before it gets too much later."

Liv doesn't even think about it. "You could stay with me until you find an apartment."

Lincoln's eyes are a little wide behind his glasses, and Liv's nervous all of a sudden, uncertain of what she's really offering.

"I mean, I'll be picking you up every morning for a while, and we're working on the same thing, and I don't mind having you there." She doesn't say that she can't sleep when she's alone, that she can't stand waking up from the dreams when she's alone. Liv thinks he know that anyway, that he feels the same because after the initial shock passes he looks unbearably grateful. It's late and the office has mostly cleared out, leaving it quiet and still. Liv wonders if Lincoln can hear the way her heart's pounding.

"Yes, thank you. I'd… I'd like that." Lincoln smiles, wide and brilliant, and Liv knows that she'll do anything to keep seeing that expression on his face.

*****

Lincoln brings two boxes and three suitcases with him. Everything else goes into storage in his own universe. He refuses to take Liv's bedroom and sleeps on the couch. She thinks that they should feel cramped in her little apartment, constantly under each other's feet, but they don't. It feels comfortable having him there. He doesn't ask what's wrong when she stares off into space, eyes full of unshed tears. She doesn't push when he goes tight lipped and tense, breathing heavily through his nose while he bites at his lips. She lays awake listening to the quiet sounds of him shifting around on the couch. She doesn't really sleep any better with him there.

It's late and Liv is starting to worry that she's keeping Lincoln from going to bed, but he's still working in the kitchen. They've sort of divided the apartment into little work zones so they each have room to spread things out on a table. Liv's sitting at the low table in the living room, on the floor, back against the couch. She's been going oven the intel they have on Jones. Despite the amount of information they have, they really don't have any information on Jones. He'd been careful with what he gave Broyles. They're no closer now than before. She snarls in frustration and shoves the files away from her, spilling half of them on to the floor. She hadn't noticed but Lincoln's standing across from her. He kneels and picks the files up, puts them away.

"Take a break for the night."

He sits behind her, legs on either side of her and digs his fingers into the muscles of her shoulders. She lets her head drop forward and bites back a groan.

Lincoln brushes her hair to one side and presses his thumbs into her neck, just on either side of her spine. The tiny friction of his skin against hers makes her stomach twist in a not altogether unpleasant way. She's torn between pulling away and pushing back into his hands. She does neither, letting him rub her neck until she's slumped boneless against the couch and the movement of his fingers slows.

"I don't really blame her, you know?"

Liv shakes her head. She doesn't, really. Lincoln has a habit of picking up conversations they left off hours ago, days. Her Lincoln had done that, too.

"The other Olivia. I don't blame her for picking Peter over me."

She leans her head to the side, resting against his knee. They'd been talking about this at lunch yesterday, discussing the ramifications of memories from existences that never happened over turkey melts and hash browns.

She's seen the way Lincoln looks at her double. She's watched him watching her during the meetings the two Fringe teams have on the bridge. She's seen how her double avoids meeting Lincoln's eyes.

Liv curls her arm around his leg and says, "I do."

*****

Liv thrashes her way out of a nightmare, sitting upright on her bed. She fumbles for the light and stares at her hands, reassuring herself that the dream-blood is gone.

"Olivia?"

She takes a shuddering breath, then another, then says, "Yeah, Lincoln." Her voice breaks on his name.

He's standing in the doorway of her bedroom. "Are you okay?" He sounds like he knows she isn't. She blinks at him. He's wearing fuzzy flannel pajama pants and nothing else, his hair messy from sleeping. He doesn't have his glasses on, so he's squinting at her.

"I'm fine."

He gives her a sad little smile.

Liv rubs at her eyes and kicks the blankets away from her feet. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay. I wasn't really sleeping." He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "You want a glass of water?"

Liv nods and watches Lincoln's back as he turns away. She follows him into the kitchen and he gives her a look over his shoulder.

"I would have brought it to you."

"I know."

Lincoln fills a glass from the water cooler. Her fingers brush his when she takes it from him. The water's cold against her dry mouth and she drains the glass before sitting it on the table behind her. She wipes the back of her hand across her lips. Lincoln tracks the movement, eyes lingering on her mouth.

She steps close to him and fists one hand in the fabric of his pajamas, just over his hip, clutching him like she's afraid he'll back away. She is afraid that he'll back away.

He doesn't, though. He leans down and meets her. 

She kisses him slowly, mouth barely moving against his at first. She drags her lips over his again and again until they're both breathing hard. When she touches the tip of her tongue to his lower lip, he groans into her mouth. Something breaks lose in her chest at the sound.

She pushes her tongue into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair. The heat of his mouth is shocking against her water-cooled tongue. His hands go to her hips, thumbs skating under the hem of her shirt, then slide around to the small of her back. Lincoln leans back against the edge of the counter and Liv follows, stepping into the vee of his legs. His hands cup her ass, pulling her even closer. She can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of her t-shirt.

Liv tightens her fingers in his hair, tilting his head, slanting their mouths together. All she can hear is the slick, wet sounds of their kissing, ragged breathing, blood rushing in her ears.

Lincoln shifts, and the movement brings the half-hard swell of his cock against her. They both shudder. She pulls back, just barely, and rests her forehead against his. He brushes tiny kisses over her lips. Liv runs her hands over his shoulders, down his arms. She catches his hands in hers as she steps back, tugging gently.

"Come to bed."

Lincoln smiles at her. "I'd love to."

*****

When they start to talk about turning the bridge off, Lincoln says he needs to go back to take care of one last thing. He's evasive and quiet about it and Liv feels like the universes are pulling the rug out from under her again. He's nearly out the door when he turns back and kisses her, leaning his forehead against hers. Liv is pretty sure it's him saying goodbye without actually saying it until he says, "Come with me. It'll just be a day or two."

They cross over, and he drives them north, out of the city and through thicker forests than anything Liv's ever seen outside of pictures. After the fifth or sixth comment she makes on it, Lincoln grins and turns off the wide interstate, winding them along tiny roads that are hemmed in on both sides by walls of trees, dense and green and full of life. They roll the windows down and Liv just barely resists sticking her head out. Occasionally the trees fall away, revealing clearings of brilliant green grass and gem-like lakes. It's fun, at first, seeing how bright and gorgeous everything is, but then she starts thinking about how without the bridge, her world will never have this. She falls quiet and wishes she'd stayed home.

The forest gives way to city, and they drive through Hartford. Lincoln halfheartedly points things out to her -- the grade school he went to is that way, his best friend from high school worked at that theater. They stop at a storage unit that's crammed full of furniture and boxes. Lincoln threads his way in and passes two boxes out to her -- one labeled 'pictures and stuff' and the other 'books - good'. He stands in the doorway for a long time before he closes and locks the room.

They stop at a park next, where Lincoln says, "I spent a lot of time here when I was a kid."

They walk for a while, on a path along a river. Liv watches kids playing in the water and asks, "It's safe for them to do that?"

Lincoln shrugs a little. "Probably not the safest thing, but they're aren't all that little, and the water doesn't really move all that fast." He smiles a little then turns to look at her. "Oh, you mean because of the water. Yeah, it's okay. It's not…"

"Toxic." Liv feels out of place in this clean, safe world. She thinks the golden, shining version of herself is the true copy and she's just a dull, stained refugee from a broken world.

Lincoln picks up a small round stone from the edge of the path.

The cemetery looks almost like a park with its wide-open lawns. The headstone they're looking for is on a little hill. Liv hangs back, watching the stiff lines of Lincoln's shoulders. He places the rock on the top of the headstone, and they walk back to the car in silence.

They find a hotel. They curl around each other, both of them too raw and hurting to do anything more than cling to the other. Liv thinks she dozes off a few times, but she's not sure. She practices, in her head, what she's going to say to him in the morning. How he shouldn't give all this up for her, because it's not a fair trade at all. She thinks about how she'll say goodbye to him on the bridge. She watches warm, golden light start to seep around the edges of the heavy curtains.

He kisses her and she forgets everything she was going to say, unable to speak around the thickness in her throat.

*****

They meet Walter and Peter on the bridge when they cross back over. She and Lincoln are each carrying one of the boxes, and Peter looks confused for a moment, then his mouth twists in something like sympathy. She walks ahead to give them space to say their goodbyes.

Walter looks at the box she's carrying. "Did you go shopping?"

"No." She tucks the box under her arm and leans against the wall with Walter. "It's Lincoln's stuff."

"Oh. I see." He nods and chews thoughtfully on a piece of licorice. "He's a nice boy, Lincoln."

"That he is." She smiles and watches Peter and Lincoln shake hands. She can't really find it in her heart to be angry with Peter. Lincoln laughs and points to his glasses and even from across the room Liv can see Peter blush. 

"He plays chess," Walter says. "Quite good, if a little predictable."

She smiles. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Take care of him, will you?"

"Of course." She looks sidelong at the man standing next to her. "I'm gonna miss you, Walter."

The glance he gives her is sly. "You're just going to miss Experimental Pancake Tuesdays."

Liv grins, then laughs. She bumps her shoulder into Walter's and watches Lincoln cross the room towards them.

"Hey."

Liv smiles at Lincoln. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Walter, it's been, um… interesting working with you."

"Yes, Agent Kennedy. It was a pleasure."

Walter winks at Liv as he walks away.

*****

The Fringe Team standing across the bridge from them winks out of existence and Lincoln's grip on her hand is painfully tight. The Secretary's voice is low and soft, but carries though the half-empty room easily, now that the machine is quiet. 

"Go home. Get some rest. We have work to do tomorrow."

They walk out of the former bridge into the sepia-colored light of early evening. Lincoln doesn't let go of her hand as they walk across the paved courtyard, along the sidewalk that curves around the edge of the island to the ferry landing. They sit side by side on the ferry, pressed together from shoulder to knee, clasped hands resting on Lincoln's thigh. He doesn't let go of her until they get to the parking lot. He's silent on the way back to her apartment.

"Lincoln?"

"Yeah." He's standing just inside the door staring at the boxes on the floor. "I'm… I guess it's sort of sinking in what I did." He hugs his arms around himself.

Liv reaches for him, rests her hand on his arm, and she can feel him shaking. She pulls him close, wraps her arms around him. He clenches his fists in the fabric of her jacket and takes a deep, shuddery breath, pressing his face to her neck and she can feel the wetness of his tears against her skin. She leads him to the couch and pulls him down so that he's resting against her, crying in the fading light of a world that isn't his. He relaxes, tension slowly uncoiling from his muscles. Liv strokes the soft, short hair at the back of his neck. 

His eyes shine in the dim light that's filtering through the windows, bright with tears. "Sorry."

She shakes her head. "Nothing to apologize for."

"I don't… I didn't make the wrong decision, Olivia. I don't want you to think that I think that."

"Lincoln, if you weren't bothered by what's happened, then I'd be worried. You gave up a lot." She frowns. "I don't really understand why."

"I guess maybe this is something we should have talked about before."

She sighs and settles more closely along his body, drawing her feet up onto the couch. Lincoln stretches out, draped over her, head tucked under her chin. Liv can feel his eyelashes brushing the skin of her neck when he blinks. His weight feels anchoring, comfortable.

"I never felt like I belonged anywhere," he says. "I think that's what was different about us. I mean, everything was the same, but even when I was a kid I didn't feel like I belonged. I never felt like I was where I was supposed to be until I came here. That doesn't make any sense, does it?"

"No." She laughs a little. "But what does, really? I mean, we've got giant bees, so sense-making is in pretty short supply."

She feels Lincoln smile. "That's really freaky, you know that, right?"

"They're not as bad as the eels."

"I don't even want to know," Lincoln mutters against her neck. "I guess I feel like I didn't really give anything up. I know everyone thinks that I left because of Olivia and Peter, but that's not it. I mean, that helped get me here initially, but that's not why I kept coming back, and it's not why I decided to stay."

"Would you have stayed if Lincoln hadn't died?"

"Yeah. I think so."

They're quiet for a long time. It's fully dark when he asks, "Olivia, why didn't you and Lincoln ever get together?"

She's been wondering when he was going to ask. She turns her head and presses a kiss to the top of his head. "I wasn't his type."

She can feel him frowning, working through what she isn't saying. He pushes himself up on one elbow and looks down at her. He shakes his head and says, "I don't…"

"He was gay."

"Oh." He settles back against her, head resting over her heart. "Huh."

"That's it?"

"I guess I'm not very surprised, actually." His mouth twitches into a smile against her collarbone. "I bet he dumped Alicia Dvoskin for her brother."

"He never said anything about it. Did you consider that?"

"Ah, no. I dumped Alicia Dvoskin for her sister."

She laughs. "How'd that work out for you?"

"Not very well, to be honest."

Thinking about her Lincoln hurts, but she's smiling at the thought of him, too. "Hey," she says.

Lincoln looks up at her.

"Whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here."

His smile makes her heart pound. "Me, too."

*****

These things happen:

They work. The cynical part of her thinks that closing the bridge has ensured some sort of job security, because while things don't get any worse, there's still plenty for Fringe agents to do, and likely always will be.

She introduces Lincoln to her mom and it's not nearly as awkward as she expects it to be. Her mom's dog slobbers all over Lincoln's suit and he just laughs.

They unpack Lincoln's things and stop pretending to look for an apartment for him. They buy two picture frames, and after much deliberation, put them on the table by the door where they can see the photos every time they leave. Sometimes the picture of her and Lincoln makes her tear up, heart aching for her lost friend. Sometimes the picture of Lincoln and Robert makes him tear up, heart aching for his lost friend.

They hold each other when one or the other of them wakes up from a nightmare.

They live their lives as best they can.


End file.
